Mea Vincula
by Whyte Star
Summary: Don sent Charlie back alone, but he never imagined things would turn out like this. . . Old wounds are torn open that test the bounds of a brother’s sanity. AU to Toxin. Sequel to Mea Culpa. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter I

Whenever Edgerton joins the Eppes boys you know that something exciting is bound to happen. Of course lots of good things happened in _Toxin,_ but there's always more angst and physical injury to go around! And thus comes Mea Vincula—"My Prison." Storyspindler gets thanks for a beta and all-around inspiration.

And you heard right: Mea Vincula is the official sequel to Mea Culpa! I'd recommend reading the latter first, since what happened within it plays a crucial role in this story as well. This one will be shorter and I guarantee it will get posted much faster than its companion did!

Enjoy!

Updated 12/12 to fix some typos. Sorry 'bout that.

**MEA VINCULA**

**CHAPTER I**

Charlie could not check a wince as Agent Edgerton dry fired his rifle. Even the quiet click, nearly indiscernible, sent tremors through his body. He glanced away from the agents, hoping his brother would not notice his distress.

"… Chaos ensues and he slips away," he offered, struggling to steady his voice.

Chaos. Screams and gunshots. Blackness, an unknown terror.

Charlie barely heard the other men's subsequent conversation, other thoughts overwhelming his concentration. At one point he barely discerned Edgerton asking him something and mumbled an answer in response, but if asked ten minutes later he would be unable to recall the question or its response.

Leaves rustled beside him as Edgerton unwrapped himself from around the tree and vanished out of sight.

Don flipped the keys to his brother. "Why don't you get back to the hotel?"

"Okay," the mathematician replied. "But why?"

"Fresh sign," Edgerton called, appearing suddenly from behind the cover of the foliage. "One, maybe two hours."

Don whipped back to face his brother. "That's why."

Charlie hesitated for merely an instant, keys clutched tight in his hand. As he turned away, he heard Don pause in giving orders into the walkie-talkie long enough to call out to him over his shoulder. The words echoed in Charlie's ears as he descended down the trail.

"Be careful, Charlie."

"_After a while I'll let you go out into the field again—but the first sign of any gunfire and you're out of there, understand? Right now you're an anomaly and I sure as heck want to keep you that way."_

Charlie understood. He would never openly admit it, but standing in the continual presence of Edgerton's rifle—and even his brother's—petrified him. Every so often his shoulder would twinge with phantom pains of the injury nearly six months in the past, a distant gunshot would echo vividly in his mind.

The Sniper. Charlie tried to push the memory from his mind, focused not on the pain but on finding his way through the woods. He tried to drown out the sound of gunshots, of his brother's scream—all so vivid in his memory and ringing in his ears as if right beside him. So absorbed was he in his thoughts that he did not notice how close he had wandered to McHugh's front porch.

"E-Excuse me?"

Charlie whipped around, startled. McHugh's wife was staring him down from the foot of the porch stairs, looking very small, even afraid.

"I-I—uh—I'm sorry, Mrs. McHugh, I didn't—"

She took a step toward him. "You're not an FBI agent, are you?"

Her blatant remark caught Charlie off-guard, and he stumbled over his response. "I—uh, no."

McHugh's wife smiled charily. "You… don't look like one of them."

Charlie tried his best to restrain his laughter. "No, I guess not."

Mrs. McHugh retained a stoic expression as she spoke. "I don't know what you're doing with those two agents…"

"I'm a consultant, actually."

"I assure you my husband is innocent," she continued unperturbed. "Please tell me you don't think like those agents do."

"Mrs. McHu—"

"Elyse."

Charlie hesitated. "Uh … Elyse. We know for a fact that your husband is innocent. We have mathematical proof. We told you that already."

"Then _why_ are they still pursuing him? Please, why can't these people just leave us alone!" Elyse McHugh flung her arms wildly, fighting to hide her tears of frustration.

Charlie paused, calculating his next words carefully. "To … clear his name. _We_ may know he's innocent … but his accusers need to know too…"

Elyse could sense the hesitation and uncertainty in his voice. She folded her arms across he chest, fixing a steely glare on the young Eppes again.

"That's not the only reason, is it?"

Their eyes met, and Charlie fought to keep his gaze steady. But Elyse could see straight through his bluff. Her hand—oddly cold—came to rest on his forearm.

"Where are my manners? Mister …"

"Charlie," he replied.

"Charlie. Forgive me. Come on inside, we can finish this conversation there." Her lips curled into a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. It was an expression dulled from months of federal agents knocking at her door, of a deteriorating marriage, of the last threads of hope she struggled to keep in her grasp.

She led Charlie through the front door and all but slammed it behind him, locking two deadbolts in her wake. Grabbing him by the upper arm, she dragged him over to a small, worn couch in the middle of the room. She fidgeted; her eyes flickered around the room for several moments before she spoke, her face downcast.

"Do … do you know what it's like … to be … afraid, Charlie? Really, truly, afraid?"

_Afraid._ The mere word unlocked a myriad of horrific images Charlie would rather forget. Shattered, disjointed memories intermingled with black voids of thoughtlessness; sheer terror, strange feelings, lingering agony. He remembered the pain. The hospital. The long recovery. Phantom pains surged again, a tingling burn deep against his heart.

"I … yeah." Charlie scrubbed his hands across his face as if suddenly exhausted. "Yeah, I do."

Elyse hesitated, not expecting that response. "You—really?"

Charlie nodded, his face eluding her eyes.

"…Why?" It was quiet, almost childlike. "What … happened?"

A shiver ran involuntarily down Charlie's body. He shook his head. "It—it was nothing."

Elyse sighed and shook her head, nearly oblivious as to having done so. She had done the same action so often it had become second nature.

"… Bob really hasn't been the same … since then. I'm afraid for him. For the ranch. I … hardly ever see him anymore … Every day I worry that somebody will find him and he…" She had to pause, her words breaking. She looked away from Charlie, unable to hide the tears on her cheeks. "He … won't come back again."

For several moments both sat silent, Elyse drawing rapid, shaking breaths to steady her frantic tears. She sighed again.

"Sometimes … it helps to talk about it, Charlie." She managed a somewhat soggy laugh. "I … gosh, I apologize. I didn't mean for this to turn into a therapy session … I just…" She wiped her eyes. "Well, you know."

Charlie remained staring into the far-most wall, distant, hesitant.

"Ah, Hell," Elyse muttered. "Tell me, Charlie. I'll—I'll let you be on your way after that."

After a long pause, Charlie stammered, "I—I'm not so sure about that, Mrs. McHugh."

She reached over and touched his knee, instantly causing the young Eppes to flinch. "Please."

An even longer silence. Finally, Charlie rose, pacing the room furiously. He folded his arms against his chest, suddenly becoming very small. His voice was rapid, thready.

"I … I was … sh-shot. By … a sniper. "

He didn't notice the horrid grimace that flashed across Elyse's now pale face. "I—the one LA? J-Just a few months ago? Oh God—I saw it on TV…"

A bitter gall burned the back of Charlie's throat.

"Oh—Charlie, I'm so sorry."

Charlie bit his lip. He turned toward the door, staring at it. "Yeah … I'm sorry for everything that's happened, Mrs. McHugh."

"Oh Charlie," Elyse paused to organize her thoughts. "You're not—"

Quite suddenly a loud crash resounded from the back of the house and Charlie recognized it instantly as a slamming door. Heavy footsteps followed, an infuriated but urgent man's voice carrying to every corner of the room.

"Elyse! Where are you! Elyse! We're getting' the hell out of here!"

Elyse's face blanched. The expression she shot in Charlie's direction conveyed a wordless terror. She rushed up to him, pushing him toward the door.

"Elyse! Where are you!"

Charlie had just undone one deadbolt, but it was in vain. Bob McHugh rounded the corner into the living room, his gun in one hand and a stricken expression on his face. He did not notice Charlie until he was several steps into the room and instantly fixed his line of sight on the younger man. Every inch of Charlie's body froze in terror. Elyse, who had been facing the young Eppes, stumbled around to face her husband with an agonized expression on her pale face.

"Elyse." McHugh's voice was eerily calm, unperturbed, but riddled with fire. "Who is this?"

The voice made her flinch, sent waves of terror shooting through her veins. "He's … no one, Bob."

"Oh, is that right?" A sinister smirk parted McHugh's lips, his entire body shaking with tension. A demonic sort of half-laughter, half-snarl bubbled up his throat. Suddenly he flung his arm—gun included—in a violent gesticulation, bellowing a curse. By instinct Charlie and Else closed the distance between them and this infuriated McHugh beyond his natural bounds.

"I spend seven moths running for my damn life, and this is how you treat me, woman!" He took a step forward, training his gun on Charlie again.

He was no longer human. He could no longer think. His very veins pulsed in a beast-like rage, primal instincts tearing him apart. He took a step closer to Charlie, paused for only a moment, and then in a fraction of a second crossed the room, threw his wife aside with one swipe of his arm, and closed both hands around Charlie's neck; the gun, still in his hand, pressed painfully against the younger man's face. Gunshots echoed afresh in Charlie's mind.

"Son of a...!"

McHugh overpowered him with little effort. The gun plastered to the side of Charlie's head rendered him immobile through pure fear and he offered no resistance. Charlie's knees unexpectedly gave out from beneath him, and McHugh held him suspended by his neck. A millisecond later, with a cry of rage, McHugh spun and hurled Charlie toward the wall. The young Eppes tumbled into the credenza beside the door, knocking his head against the wall and crumbling to the floor like a dead man. McHugh steadied his gun at Charlie's head and pulled back the hammer, the ominous cocking sound as loud as a gunshot itself.

Elyse darted from her stunned position across the room and flung herself against her husband's body. She reached for his shooting arm, trying against hope to disarm him.

"Bob, no! Bob, listen to me! It's not like that, Bob! H-He's with the FBI!..."

She regretted the words as soon as they left her lips. Bob's body turned to cement. He turned his head to look into her eyes—everything moved so painfully slow.

"Oh, is he, now?" McHugh's eyes trailed between Charlie, dazed and unresponsive on the floor, to his wife, pale and terrified at his side. "The FBI, you say?" Again, his smooth voice belied his animalistic rage.

His black laughter surfaced again. Without warning, while still staring his wife in the eyes, McHugh pulled the trigger. The bullet screamed only inches from Charlie's head and slammed into the credenza, chips of wood darting against Charlie's face. Elyse collapsed at her husband's side; Charlie erupted from his daze with nothing short of a scream, feeling as if, for a short moment, his heart had stopped beating.

McHugh sneered, taking a swing at Charlie's extended leg with his shoe. "Elyse," he sneered, "go get some rope."

Elyse remained frozen, crying silent tears.

"ELYSE!" McHugh bellowed, so loud his wife could feel her every bone shake from the sound. "Get me some rope, woman!"

Elyse shied away on her knees, stifling a cry. Barely seeing through her tears, she stumbled to her feet and shuffled away. McHugh kept his gun trained on Charlie, but the younger man would not have moved had the entire building caught fire. Panic, agony, and fear rooted him to the spot. His eyes saw only the gun in McHugh's hand. His heart pounded. He was drenched in sweat. His heart thundered against the pain that radiated in his shoulder. He could not control his ragged breaths. He saw the sniper. He saw himself bleeding on the ground. He saw the ambulance, the hospital, his brother.

And he could not take his eyes off that gun.

A moment later Elyse returned, still fighting to silence her tears. McHugh tore the rope from her arms and slammed his gun into her surprised hands.

"If he moves," he told her, "shoot him. You understand me?"

Between her muted sobs, Elyse managed a nod.

McHugh started toward Charlie. He grabbed the younger man's shoulder and flung him onto his stomach, painfully wrenching each of Charlie's arms behind his back. He wrapped the whole of the coarse rope around Charlie's wrists numerous times and in several directions, until a large mass nearly obscured the younger man's hands from view.

* * *

Adrenaline thundered in Don's ears. Yardley had been pursuing them, about to exact Graybridge's revenge on an unsuspecting McHugh when Edgerton shot him down. McHugh had heard the shot and vanished into the trees and Don had given chase. They had come too close to lose him now. Anger, failure propelled Don forward as he struggled to follow McHugh's tracks. 

Losing his prize in the thick foliage, he regretfully paused to recover his bearings. Only a moment had passed when the leaves crunched beside him and he whirled, gun clutched in his hands.

"Eppes," Edgerton held up his hand in defense, his gun at his shoulder. "You find him?"

"No," Don sighed, lowering his gun and wiping his hand across his brow. "I chased him this far… but now I think I've lost him." He paused, suddenly cocking his brow. "How did you find me?"

"Oh, between the two of you it was easy to follow the trail," Edgerton replied almost nonchalantly. He scanned his eyes over the ground for a second and suddenly gestured off into the wood. "He went that way."

Don examined the distance beyond Edgerton's outstretched hand, examining deep into the trees.

"Wait," he began, "isn't that the way to—?"

He checked his words as a gunshot echoed from the distance. The same gunshot that, only milliseconds before, had slammed into the wood just inches from Charlie's face.

Don whirled to face Edgerton at the same time that the other man muttered, "McHugh's ranch."

Both agents took off toward the sound, Edgerton in the lead. Don shouldered his rifle and pulled out his walkie-talkie. He barked out orders as he ran, gathering the plethora of FBI agents scattered across the mountain to converge on McHugh's cabin.

* * *

"There's no way for me to get off this mountain, is there?" McHugh prowled back and forth before Charlie like a caged predator. "Agents everywhere, huh?" 

Charlie kept his eyes downcast. Looking up meant looking at McHugh's gun. Just thinking about it made his stomach churn.

"They're going to be barkin' outside any minute now, aren't they?" McHugh continued, pointing his gun toward the window. "How many are they going to think I killed this time?"

"McHugh," Charlie swallowed hard, his entire mouth had the texture of sand. "We—"

"McHugh!" Don's voice tore through the cabin's thick walls, crystal clear to the occupants inside. McHugh swirled to face the door, a snarl on his face. Charlie tensed, hope and fright waging war within his body.

"We know you're in there, McHugh!"

McHugh scoffed. "Just like I said," he spat in Charlie's direction. "Seven months and it has to go down like this."

"Give it up, McHugh!" Don continued. "Don't make this harder than it has to be!"

McHugh snarled and spun to face Charlie on the floor. He swooped down and snagged the younger man by his upper arm and yanked him to his knees. Charlie hissed as violent spasms raced down the length of his body.

"Get up."

Charlie struggled to his feet, the entire world spinning in violent circles. McHugh steadied his gun in his hand and removed the safety. Keeping a firm hold on Charlie's arm, they moved as one toward the door. Charlie was all but being dragged, unable through fear and weakness to move on his own power. McHugh kicked the door open with his foot.

"Stay here," McHugh hissed in Charlie's ear. "And don't say a word."

He pushed Charlie against the wall and stepped just outside the door, visible to the FBI agents but still within arms reach of his hostage, whom Don and the others could not see. McHugh kept his gun lowered at his side. He had a plan.

At least a dozen FBI agents greeted him, Don and Megan in front. He could not see Edgerton, hidden deep within the trees several yards away from his comrades, eyeing the situation through the sight on his rifle.

"I've told you idiots a dozen times," McHugh called out. "I'm innocent. I don't need to surrender to anyone."

"We know you're innocent, McHugh," Don countered. "Put the gun down. We just want to talk."

"Liar," McHugh snapped. "The whole lot of you couldn't give a damn about talking to me." He swung the gun as he articulated his words with his hands.

Don tensed. Edgerton fixed McHugh in his sights, finger on the trigger.

"McHugh," Don continued. "Calm down. Don't make this turn violent."

"Violent, eh?" McHugh's voice cracked in a near-rage. "What are you going to do? Shoot me?"

Don watched McHugh vanish into the house. Seizing the moment, he whispered something to Edgerton through the walkie-talkie. Seconds later McHugh returned, dragging someone behind him. It was only when the fugitive flung his hostage hard against the wooden deck in full view of the FBI agents did Don recognize the curls, the clothing.

The walkie-talkie hit the ground. Don's insides turned to liquid. He could scarcely utter the first name that came to his lips, speaking so soft that only Megan, standing at his side, could comprehend it.

"Ch-Charlie."


	2. Chapter II

A new year, a new chapter! This fic is turning out to be longer than I anticipated. Not as long as _Mea Culpa,_ but I should be able to get three more chapters or so out of it. School is starting up again soon, so I'll try to get as much of it done as possible before then.

Enjoy!

**CHAPTER II**

Hell had a countenance.

Something seized Don from inside—sinister tendrils of a white-hot rage, a bestial, instinctual fury. His chest went cold, and fire rushed to his limbs. Tension coalesced in his feet, and tremors raked through his veins until his body hardened, tight as a coiled spring.

Anger coursed through him, burning. But it was not an internalized anger, the sort that had crippled him after the sniper attacks months before. Instead, it was instead a seething, sentient anger. Something he could mold, fashion. It oozed from every pore of his body, drawn to McHugh like a magnet.

Charlie writhed, trying to rise. He managed only to roll onto his side, fixing his eyes on his brother yards away. His expression spoke of desperation, fear, uncertainty that he was unable to conceal.

That expression became the catalyst that ignited Don's rabid instincts.

In less than a heartbeat, he had a hand on his gun. Megan, at first startled, managed to grip his wrist before he could remove the gun from its holster. She forced her entire body weight against her partner's arm and still struggled to control him. Don's inhuman strength all but lifted her off the ground.

"Don, Don!" she gasped between clenched teeth. "Don, no. No. Think about this, Don. Don!"

Don still struggled, unhearing. _She_ did not know. _She_ had not been there, seen what happened to him. To _them._

She could not understand.

Don had just about broken free from her grasp when Edgerton joined the fray. He wrenched Don's arm behind his back, reached down and pulled the gun free of its holster and out of Don's reach. Don bucked against him with a primal growl, writhing with strength beyond reason and measure.

"Don, Don, calm down, Don," Megan's voice was tinged in desperation. "He has a gun, too, Don. Think about this. Don't provoke him. Think about Charlie, Don."

Don's body heaved with heavy breaths. "Charlie," he gasped, speaking to no one.

"Yeah, Don." Megan sounded all but exasperated.

"Charlie."

Don's rage sputtered and faded. With a trembling breath he relaxed, bearing down on McHugh instead with his acidic glare.

"Damn," he sneered.

Edgerton tugged on Don's arm, coercing him towards the cover of the SUV. Don hesitated, not wanting to leave his brother's sight, and no amount of persuasion could break this sacred bond. He dug his heels into the ground, staring Edgerton down.

Edgerton's grip broke instantly. He recognized this unadulterated expression of loyalty, having seen it once months before.

The brothers Eppes shared a unique bond that neither distance nor mortal peril could efface. It was precious, enviable. Though it had not always been this way, this tight union being newly fostered, both brothers, whether they were aware of it or not, defended this bond, this latent power, with their lives.

"You've got to keep a level head, Don." Edgerton reached for his rifle where he had stowed it and leaned it against his shoulder. He kept Don's gun held firmly in his hand. "He's really thrown a curveball at us with this."

Don could not help a sigh. Every five seconds he glanced over his shoulder, back at his brother, assuring himself that he was still there. "Yeah … yeah, I gotcha."

"Give me a few minutes, and I can get a good shot on him."

For a fraction of a second Don's animalistic rage took over, his insides screaming in affirmation. But he fought them down, shaking his head almost violently.

"… N-No. No, not yet. Let me—let me reason with him for a minute." He ran his fingers through his hair. The tendrils of an oncoming headache thrummed against his temple. "I'd rather wait until McHugh's alone before we take any shots. It's too… too much of a risk otherwise."

Edgerton managed a grin. "How did I know you were going to say that?"

Don tried to return his smile but failed, managing only a slight curl of his lips. "Damn," he hissed under his breath as he turned back toward McHugh and took several steps forward. Megan followed him with her eyes, struggling to control her rampant thoughts.

McHugh saw Don coming and tensed. The gun found its way towards Charlie. Don stopped in mid-step and held up his hands in defense.

"McHugh, please. I'm unarmed. Put the gun down. Please."

McHugh glanced around apprehensively, searching the trees and the distance beyond Don's back.

"What do you want?" he all but sneered.

"Just—Just let me talk to him, McHugh."

McHugh eyed Don warily.

"Do it, McHugh," Charlie sputtered at his feet, his cheek pressed against the porch's wooden surface. "It can only work in your favor."

McHugh glanced down at his hostage, chewing on his lip. His gun slowly retreated. A second later he kneeled down and yanked Charlie to his feet by the crook of his arm. Don winced as he watched a grimace cross his brother's face. He took a step forward, only to stop cold as McHugh suddenly jammed his gun against Charlie's chin.

"Don't take another step. You can talk to him from there. But make one more move and I'll blow his head off."

Don stumbled. "… Put the gun down, McHugh. I promise I won't make a move, but just put it down." He struggled to keep his voice even, and was failing miserably. "…Pl-Please."

Indignance flickered across McHugh's face. After a moment's hesitation, he pushed away from Charlie and took several steps back, his arm at his side, finger still on the trigger. Though the gun was no longer at his hostage's throat, McHugh's cold desire still flickered in his eyes.

Charlie's expression was beyond wan, almost cadaverous. Don could see his brother struggling for every breath.

Don struggled. All words save one had suddenly failed him.

"…Charlie."

"Hi, Don." Charlie's voice barely covered the distance between them. "Don't worry. I'm fine, Don."

He looked anything but fine, Don could see that. He sputtered. It was all he could do to keep from sobbing.

"Y-You hanging on, buddy?"

"Yeah." It sounded as weak as Charlie felt.

Don managed a smile. Entirely fake, but meant as a sign of reassurance to his brother yards away.

"We—We're going to get you out of this, Charlie. Hold on for me, okay?"

McHugh cleared his throat and spat, rubbing it into the porch with his shoe.

"I will, Don. I'll be fine. But—" Charlie paused, debating his next words. "His wife, she's in the—"

Suddenly, with a bestial roar, McHugh rushed forward. Grasping Charlie by the shoulder he all but threw the younger man through the threshold and out of sight. Even from a distance Don could hear his brother struggle to keep his footing and hit the floor; something else fell with him and shattered.

"That's about enough of that," McHugh sneered. "Now, I held up my end of the bargain," he continued nonchalantly. "Now it's your turn. Drop the case against me, pack up, and get the hell out."

Don was stricken dumb. Aghast. Pale. He struggled to stay upright.

"We had no such bargain. And we can't do that, McHugh."

It was Edgerton who spoke. He kept one eye on Don, his fellow agent's expression all too similar to one he wore only months before.

"Then the kid stays with me," McHugh jeered. "You can call again when you're feeling more reasonable."

Giving the agents one last steely glare, he stepped through the door and slammed it behind him.

* * *

Silence weighed heavily on the living room, save the constant thwack of McHugh's heel against the wall as he sat by the window, staring down the outside world. Despite his steely expression, this repetitive action was a nervous one. He would never admit it—not even to himself—but a seed of discomfort, of fear, was growing deep in his gut. 

Charlie, his back pressed against the side of an armchair, watched Elyse from the floor. She, in turn, kept an eye on her husband at the window, and he kept a glare fixed on the agents in the distance. Don tried to see inside—_wanted _to see inside—but could focus on nothing but McHugh's half-hidden firearm and his equally devilish glare.

Charlie saw Elyse struggling to control her tears. Every few minutes her face would twist miserably, a testament to the sobs she fought so hard to squelch. Charlie could tell so much from her face—anger, fear, hurt all coalesced into a tumultuous expression. Since storming through the back door, McHugh had done nothing to acknowledge his wife save the occasional acidic command he spat in her direction, and this hurt her more than even his terrifying strength.

She feared for herself as much as she feared for her husband, and as much as she wanted to run away, her heart denied her that chance. It all but tore her in twain.

Suddenly McHugh snapped erect from his half-slouch and pressed his face against the window. Charlie heard the muffled sound of voices and movement outside. Taking advantage of McHugh's diverted attention, Charlie twisted himself in Elyse's direction.

"Elyse," he hissed, trying to disguise his voice in a hiss lest McHugh took notice.

But McHugh's wife understood. Checking to see that her husband was still focused on the happenings outside, she rose silently from the couch and slid into the chair Charlie rested against.

She leaned her head as close to his as possible. "Are you okay, Charlie?"

"Yes. Elyse, listen to me. We're going to get out of this."

"But— "

"Don't worry. Your husband is not going to hurt you, nor will they hurt him. I assure you. This will all work out."

"But Charlie! Look what he's done to you! He's in a standoff again. They'll be another shootout, I just know it." She shook involuntarily. "Oh Charlie, I'm … I'm scared."

Charlie craned his neck to look directly into her soggy eyes. "Elyse, I swear to you." He paused, heaving a breath both to stave off the headache that thundered at his temples and to steady his uneven voice. "D-Don Eppes, the FBI agent? Remember him? Well, Don Eppes is my brother. And I know my brother, he won't let anything happen to us, and he won't touch your husband, either. He knows McHugh is innocent as much as I do. He wouldn't hurt an innocent man."

Little did either of them realize that Charlie's whisper had grown louder as his sentences progressed. Though still not loud enough for McHugh to comprehend the words, he could still discern the muddy sound, and whipped away from the window to face them. When he saw his wife leaning over Charlie his eyes narrowed both in suspicion and in rage.

"Elyse," he began. His tone was like black ice, hiding a malicious nature beneath its cold and smooth exterior. "What are you doing?"

Elyse whipped up, her face reddening. "I—n-nothing, Bob."

McHugh took a step forward. "What were you talking about?" He focused dark eyes on Charlie. "Now tell me you weren't implanting these ridiculous FBI notions into my wife's head, were you?"

"B-Bob!" Elyse stammered. "No, Bob!—"

He held up one hand, and she stopped instantly. His interrogation turned to his hostage again. "Convincing her that I'm a killer? That's what you were doing here in the first place, wasn't it? Convert my wife and then I'll come quietly, you think?" he sneered, taking hold of his wife's arm. "You're out of your damn mind. All of you are."

He yanked Elyse to her feet and whipped her across the room, back to the couch. Reaching for his gun, he pointed it at Charlie again.

"You know what you're going to do? You're going to get up, march your happy ass out there, and tell every single one of them to pack up and leave. And you're going to tell them to drop this case against me, to leave me be, and to forget that I ever existed. And you better be pretty damn convincing," he pulled back the hammer, "or it'll be the last thing you ever say."

Color drained from Charlie's face, but somewhere deep inside, a fire burned. He knew that Edgerton was out there, and he knew that if McHugh even tried a shot, the older man was as good as dead. Charlie could not let that happen. He had made that promise to Elyse. And he had sworn to himself that he would not have another person die by a bullet because of him. Someone else had already suffered that fate. . .

When he spoke it was no more than a whisper and hardly strong enough to be considered defiant.

"No."

McHugh sat stunned for a moment before breaking down in nothing short of a cackle. "No? You can't be serious!"

Charlie tried his best to stare McHugh down., but the older man's gun held more precedence than Charlie's passion ever could.

Suddenly McHugh aimed and pulled the trigger.

But this bullet was not meant to be fatal. It rushed just inches above Charlie's head, so close he could feel the rush of air tousle his curls, and embedded itself into the chair at his back. A plume of upholstery mushroomed onto Charlie's head.

"Get up," McHugh sneered, reaching down to snag his hostage's arm.

* * *

Nearly an hour had passed with no activity from the house. Don could scarcely contain himself, his desire to raid the house battling hard with his need to see his brother safe. When McHugh suddenly vanished from his position at the window, terror seized Don with fiery fingertips. He jumped to his feet, rushing forward as far as he dared, craning his neck and straining his eyes to see what he could not. Megan kept close behind him. 

Suddenly, a single gunshot ricocheted across the mountainside, and Don felt his insides shatter.

All activity between the FBI agents suddenly ceased. The sound echoed as loudly as a supernova. Don's face had long since drained of color and, upon hearing this noise, he suddenly resembled more of a corpse than any of them wished to admit.

Megan stifled a gasp and, pushing the sudden morbid thoughts from her mind, reached out for Don's arm. Her feeble support was the only thing keeping the other agent on his feet.

He could handle gunshots at himself. At his fellow agents. In just about any situation. But his brother—it seemed that he would never again be able to place Charlie and guns in the same situation without terrifying thoughts invading his consciousness.

It was as if the gunshot hit _him._ He recoiled; Megan could feel the very tremor surge through his body.

He was only thinking one thing now. Charlie had been shot. Charlie was bleeding. He could not get to him. Charlie was dead.

_To Be Continued._


	3. Chapter III

... I'm in trouble, aren't I?

Well it's here, and that's all that matters! And more good news, there's only one chapter left!

Much thanks goes to Storyspindler for being the world's best beta. We really knocked heads over this chapter. But it all turned out well in the end.

Enjoy!

**CHAPTER III**

Back when Charlie was in the hospital, Don could distinctly remember feeling like a rubber band, being pulled in a hundred different directions, lost in a vortex with neither time nor recollection. That horrible feeling now seized him again, his thoughts rushing through his neurons faster than he could comprehend them while reality crept on at an agonizing pace.

He could hear Megan talking to him from somewhere far and distant. He could not discern the words, just the low murmur over her voice in the back of his mind. At the forefront of his brain were images of his brother, of the terror he must have felt having to face a gun again … of the agony he never should have endured … of the end that never should have been …

Blurred thoughts suddenly coalesced into sharp lines as McHugh emerged, alone.

A conflagration surged through Don's limbs. Images of Charlie's fictitious demise burned themselves onto his retinas. The demon inside, for this entire standoff fighting for control, emerged violently as McHugh stepped from the house.

"You son of a ...!" More of a violent snarl than coherent words, it began softly, almost staid, then escalated into a growl nothing short of feral. He reached for the gun that was no longer there. It took several precious seconds for his fingers to realize they grasped at air, long enough for Edgerton to grasp Don around the waist and yank him backward just as the younger man's feet prepared to hit the ground running.

"Don, Don!" Edgerton sneered through clenched teeth. It was all he could do save wrestling the other man to the ground. "You've gotta keep it calm, Don. Charlie might still be in there."

"Dead," Don spat, managing to writhe halfway out of Edgerton's grasp. "McHugh!" His voice carried for miles. "Where is he!"

For several intense seconds McHugh gave no answer, no indication he had even heard the agent. Suddenly he pondered the gun in his hand. A sinister grim crossed his face and Don felt his heart sink.

"You sure do jump to conclusions," McHugh sneered. "Lucky for you, I'm a lousy shot."

Don released a breath he didn't know he had been holding. Without thinking, he took one step closer, drawing nearer to the presence he suddenly felt again.

McHugh tensed.

"McHugh," Don checked his step. His tone bordered on pleading. "Listen to me. Just let him go. All of your demands will be met. Just leave him be."

"No. I have no reason to trust you. It's very simple. Drop the case, he goes free. I'm being entirely reasonable."

McHugh stared at the agents for several seconds as if anticipating a response. Finding none, he raised his gun in a sinister gesture, stepped inside the door, and closed it without another word.

Don watched him disappear and sighed, defeated. " … So am I."

He stared at the barren door for several seconds. Clenching his eyes shut and balling his fists, he breathed a curse through his teeth, all he could do save drawing his own blood with his nails. He struggled back several paces to the SUV and buried his head in his arms, leaning heavily against the hot metallic surface.

A soft presence drew up beside him. Don turned an apprehensive eye on Megan through the crook of his arm.

"Don, _what_ is wrong with you?"

He refused to look her in the face.

"I can understand that this is Charlie we're dealing with here, but you're being _irrational_, Don. This isn't like you."

He strained his neck haphazardly in the cabin's direction, stared for a moment, and snarled. "You wouldn't understand."

"Like _hell_ I wouldn't, Don! You're not coping well with this situation at all. I want to help you. I want to help Charlie."

A long pause.

"… Do you know what death feels like, Megan?"

She sputtered, the question one she had never expected to hear escape from her partner's lips.

"I—what?"

"Charlie does."

"… Don?"

"It was … six months ago, at least. A sniper case. Charlie was at the scene … and … the sniper shot him. And I didn't—couldn't—do a _damn_ thing about it, Megan! Not a damn thing!"

"But he's—"

"He was in a coma for … for days. He spent two weeks at the hospital—and the therapy. I know he tries to hide it, but—"

Don's sentence stumbled to a halt as Megan cut him short.

"You blamed yourself for what happened to Charlie then, and you're blaming yourself for what's happening now."

Though her face wavered as she tried to hide a shred of uncertainty, her tone embodied just the opposite.

"Don't you start it too," Don spat. "Everyone, from my old partner to my father told me the same thing. 'Don't blame yourself, Don. It's not your fault, Don.' Believe me, I've tried. I even thought I had it right for awhile. But now this happens and I realize that things haven't changed at all."

"Don, it's not—"

"It _is_ my fault that this happened to Charlie."

_My fault, my fault, my greatest fault. _

"And the _second_ McHugh steps out of that door again—gun or no gun—so help me, I'll wring his dirty neck."

Megan recoiled. The statement was so icy it was uncharacteristic. She stared at her partner in sheer disbelief for several seconds. Resisting the shiver that crept up from her feet, she stumped past Don for a few paces until she came to the walkie-talkie face-down in the dirt.

"Stay there," she ordered Don forcefully, "I'm calling Colby and David."

* * *

Upon his arrival, it did not take long for David Sinclair to realize something was terribly wrong. 

Megan's message had been unusually vague, but once David took in the scene, all the minute details came out in full force. The eerie stillness of the scene, that sense of apprehension, was all too similar to the feeling that had permeated the scene after the sniper attack.

The dejected aura that surrounded his partner provided all the confirmation he needed. He had seen that expression before. Throwing the SUV into park, David crossed the distance between them in a dozen brisk paces.

Without thinking, David sought Don's gaze. "Is it Charlie?"

Don merely nodded.

"How long?"

Don shook his head. Hell if he knew how much time had passed; it felt like an eternity.

"About four hours," Megan offered.

"What are all these people doing just standing around?" Colby had caught up to the group and gestured in a not-so-subtle fashion to the dozen or so men scattered randomly in a twenty-five foot radius behind them.

"McHugh is being uncooperative," spoke Edgerton as he appeared from behind Don's SUV, rifle in tow. "We can't risk making a move and provoking him with Charlie in there. I'm going to head back out and see if next time he comes out I can get a good shot at him."

"No, no," Colby continued. "Think about it. McHugh's probably scared. He thinks we're out to kill him. He probably sees Charlie as a last-ditch effort to stay alive."

"He doesn't know we know he's innocent," David continued, discerning Colby's point. "And he's probably not going to take any chances with us."

"I've already tried reasoning with him," Don offered, "and he threatened to take Charlie's head off."

A brief moment of silence sliced between them as each person dwelled on the severity of that statement.

"… We've got to get all these people out of here," Colby started. "McHugh's outnumbered. Among many things, he's got to be paranoid right now."

"Yeah, Don," David agreed. "Send them all back out of sight. Maybe that'll ease him."

Don replied with a nod.

"As long as we get my brother out of there. And no one gets hurt."

Sinews of his lost confidence were slowly growing back.

"Yeah, I'd rather this not go down in gunfire," Megan interjected. "For all our sakes."

"Even still, I'm going to head back there." Edgerton shouldered his rifle as he spoke. "If this goes on much longer, who knows if McHugh will snap? He's already taken shots. And I don't want to take any more chances."

Megan held up the dusty walkie-talkie she had rescued from the ground. Edgerton replied by patting his own attached to his belt.

"We'll be in touch," she said.

As Edgerton vanished into the foliage, David and Colby turned to disperse the excess men. When David walked by he gave his partner a clap on the shoulder, a symbolic gesture of someone who had been there, too.

"Hang in there, Don."

Don returned his affirmation with a silent nod.

"… Hey, David," he added after a moment's pause. David retraced his steps back to his partner's side.

"Call up a medical team, will you? Get them up here as soon as you can. _I_ don't want to take any more chances, either."

* * *

Promptly after returning from his discussion with Don outside, McHugh stormed to the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator. This entire situation was fraying at his nerves. He sank into a chair away from the window—in fact, he had drawn the blinds shut in a fury—and began to drown the beer in breathless bursts. 

"You know, kid," he sputtered between sips, "those FBI friends of yours are pretty damn stubborn. I'm not askin' for anything difficult, here. On the other hand, I'm kinda surprised. I was sure as hell they'd shoot me dead the second I stepped out there without you."

Charlie wanted to scream, to drill into McHugh's head all the reasons why this whole situation was a folly. But his head throbbed, and he settled merely on a half-mumbled phrase.

"Be thankful they didn't."

Charlie had to half-throw himself to the floor to avoid the bottle McHugh suddenly chucked his way. It crashed into the wall only inches from Elyse's head—she shied away as glass and unfinished beer showered down on her.

"I'd watch my tongue, kid."

Charlie set his jaw. This was it. He had come too far to turn back, now.

"McHugh," Charlie gasped, almost breathless, as he half-ducked behind the couch, "just let us _help_ you. We can get Graybridge the punishment they deserve! Just give yourself up and end this futility!"

Just for one-millionth of a second, Charlie thought he had succeeded. Then a hellish fire of an ilk he had never before seen crept into McHugh's dark eyes and a sinister scowl smeared across his face.

For one angelic moment, everything stood still. And then, in a fraction of a heartbeat, Charlie Eppes crashed headfirst into hell.

McHugh crossed the room in two strides amidst a string of curses. Charlie instinctively ducked lower behind his barracks, but not before McHugh snagged his left arm in claws of wrathful torture. With one massive yank, almost inhuman in strength, McHugh ripped Charlie off his knees and nearly straight into the air.

Suddenly, the chaos stopped, and Charlie seemed to hover motionlessly in mid-air. He could hear Elyse start screaming, though the words were muddled and incomprehensible. Then McHugh's grip on his arm redoubled and gravity resumed. A primal scream echoed in his ears.

McHugh's other arm sought Charlie's ankle and, with a snarl unheard of in the mortal world, he flung Charlie down toward the ground. But the mathematician's trajectory sent him straight toward the coffee table, and his left side crashed into the solid wood with a merciless fury. An agony of a degree Charlie had never known—not since _then_—blossomed in his left shoulder and shot through his entire left side like a thousand tiny rockets. He rolled onto his right side to escape the pain and tumbled off the table, crashing face-first onto the floor.

But hell had not yet come to pass, for he had landed right at McHugh's feet. The older man kicked him in his wounded left side, and Charlie, unable to choke down a painful cry, instinctively curled away. McHugh went for him. One solid punch landed square in Charlie's temple. Now hurting in more places that he could count, Charlie went limp. He had tried …

_To Be Continued…_


	4. Chapter IV

No excuse in the world can justify how long it's been since I updated … but to make up for it, I give you _two_ chapters and a completed story! There's a warning for language in this chapter. Many thanks to Storyspindler for the beta and helping me work out those awkward scenes. Without her, as with Mea Culpa, this story would not be possible.

And so, without further ado…

**CHAPTER IV**

Just as another punch made its way in, Elyse threw herself against her husband's side. Though her weight barely made the man flinch, he paused a moment to swipe at her like an insect. She latched onto his arm, clutching it with nearly nerveless fingers. Her entire body was shaking. McHugh could feel it.

"Bob," she managed through her hysterical tears. "Stop it, stop it," she tugged helplessly on his arm. Her legs melted beneath her, and she sank to her knees. Violent sobs racked her body, collective mourning from the past several months she had been unable to release, terror from the fast few hours should could no longer contain. "Please, Bob!"

McHugh balled his fist. Glancing between his wife and his prey, he suddenly spit, as if a horrendous taste assaulted his senses. Rubbing the saliva into the carpet with his shoe he threw his arm half-heartedly in Charlie's direction and sighed.

"Why do you want to protect him, Elyse?"

Elyse released her husband's arm from her grasp—five white half-moons dented his arm on either side—and ran her hands down her face, pausing to wipe away her tears. For several seconds she sucked in shaky, thick breaths, trying to stabilize her shattered being, which would probably never be whole again.

"He's not one of them, Bob," she managed in a soggy voice, her gaze assuming the floor. "For pity's sake, Bob, he's been trying to _help_ you!"

Her sobs began anew. She struggled to her knees like a person intoxicated and crawled to Charlie's side. The mathematician's face was tilted away from her own. He was utterly still.

"Charlie …" Elyse reached for him, getting as far as his shoulder before Charlie shuddered out of whatever state he had been in and turned to face her.

"I'm … I'm okay," he sputtered, though the room was spinning wildly before his eyes.

Elyse's arms fell to her sides. "Damn it, why didn't you just _listen_ to him, Bob!"

"He's lying to you, Elyse."

"He's a _mathematician,_ Bob!"

"World-class," Charlie offered from the floor, more to assure himself that his throbbing brain still functioned properly.

"And he proved to the FBI that you were innocent!"

Charlie rolled over onto his right side, facing in the direction where he thought McHugh stood—the room still swirled too violently for him to be one-hundred percent certain—and cleared his throat.

"We know that Graybridge sold you tainted antibiotics, McHugh."

"What difference does that make?" McHugh spat. "They still say I killed that fed."

"No … we know you didn't do that, either." As the world slowly came back into focus, so did Charlie's ambition and his reason. "There's a … bullet hole on the outside of your house. The way it's positioned, it's telling us that someone took a shot from _outside_ the house. We have reason to believe it was Graybridge. They have good reason to want you dead, McHugh, and getting you tagged for killing a federal agent is a fairly easy way to do it."

McHugh chewed on Charlie's words for a moment, tracing the mathematician with his eyes.

"Lies," he spat.

"McHu—" Charlie hissed, only able to speak the first half of the name before its bearer landed a kick square to his already injured left side. Charlie bit down a savage curse as an acute pain rocketed through his shoulder. He dipped his forehead to the ground and released a weak sigh through his teeth—it was all he could do save screaming. This feeling, it was so severe, so real … it felt like getting shot all over again …

He fell still.

"Bob …" Elyse managed only as a slight gasp, seemingly lost to her own devices as she watched the mathematician struggle. "How could you do this, Bob…"

"Shut the _hell_ up, Elyse!"

She flinched. The statement was not an unfamiliar one. For a moment she remained still, fearful, as she always did. But suddenly a change came over her eyes. A light. It may have been feeble, but it sparked with more determination than her husband could detect. _Hope._

"You have a chance to make things right, Bob!"

He scoffed at her.

"Don't you see? You finally have the chance, Bob. To _end this._ No more hiding out, no more wondering if I'll ever see you again … I know you're innocent, Bob, and now the FBI does too! You know that you didn't do it … why are you running?"

McHugh grumbled something incoherent.

"Is it … your pride?"

Something that was not quite a gag escaped McHugh's lips.

"That's it, isn't it? You're too damn proud to give yourself up to them!"

She threw herself back on her haunches just as her husband's arm sailed over her head with a vengeance. His feral anger blinding him, McHugh stumbled like a man intoxicated and struggled to keep his footing. His enemy was no longer the younger man crumbled on the floor, or the agents outside his door, or the woman who defied him—it was this horrible feeling that tore him up inside. Anger. Regret. _Fear._

That same feral instinct now drove Elyse. She crawled frantically on her hands and knees, stumbling over Charlie. Just beyond his head she found her husband's gun, lying where it had fallen. Clutching it in shaking hands she whirled to face her husband, still crouched on bended knee.

A horrible crack assaulted her senses as the metal flashed hot beneath her hands, and a violent force knocked her head back, causing her to topple sideways in pure shock. The gun wavered in her grip and toppled from her suddenly nerveless fingers, a pale wisp of smoke slithering out of the barrel's end.

Across the room, glass shattered as the stray bullet blasted through a hanging portrait of Elyse and her husband before embedding itself in the wall behind. The remains of the picture teetered and crashed down to the floor with an unbelievable explosion of sound.

Elyse choked on her very breath, terror of an unreal intensity assaulted her every synapse. She stared down at her hands aghast, jaw dropped nearly to her chin. She had pulled the trigger. Subconsciously, by accident, she had not even felt her fingers touch the cold metal. Had it been a slip or something more? Horrific images suddenly threw themselves against her eyes and her body went cold. Without thinking she buried her head in her hands and sobbed with a pain and fervor she had never known.

The sound of a bullet screaming past his ears diffused McHugh's rage in an instant. It took several more seconds for the cacophony within his brain to settle enough for him to take stock of this new situation. His eyes migrated from the fallen picture, where he and his wife had been separated by the horrid burn of a gunshot, to the offending weapon itself, motionless on the floor, to his wife, curled upon herself and shaking with agonizing terror.

Bile burned at the back of his throat. Cursing, he lashed out and kicked out at the gun, causing it to whirl with a loud clatter under the sofa a few feet away.

The sobs assaulted his ears, made them ache and bleed. He took a step closer to his wife, hesitant.

"Elyse …"

Elyse had doubled over, so fraught with tears that her sobs no longer made any noise; her body would simply jerk every few moments with a force that drove her nose closer to the floor. The culmination of years of fear finally exploded inside her, releasing a torrent of raw and primal emotion.

She had fired a gun.

No, it was deeper than that.

She had deliberately pointed a weapon at the man she loved.

That weapon had nearly put an end to him, to them both.

In wanting to stop him, she had suddenly become something foreign.

Something malignant.

Something … evil.

So absorbed was she in her turbulent thoughts that Elyse barely felt the arms suddenly wrap around her in a warm, if tentative, embrace. It was sensation that she had not felt for many months, a gentle fragment of the life that once was.

"I," she swallowed, leaning into her husband, relishing in the strength even his simple touch lent her. "I didn't mean it, Bob. I-it just went off."

She regarded her hands with a queasy expression, and McHugh felt her body spasm involuntarily, subconsciously remembering the recoil of the gun.

"I-I might have pulled it, I honestly don't know." Her voice was small, distant. "But if I did, so help me, I didn't mean it, Bob. That's the last thing I'd ever want, I—"

"Elyse. Elyse," McHugh's voice had lost its sharp intensity. He regarded his wife with a gentle expression, but one that was laced with uncertainty, irresolution.

She sputtered another sob. "I—I'm sorry."

McHugh groaned and struggled to his feet.

"Hell, Elyse, the last thing you need to do is be apologizing to _me_."

He threw one arm out to emphasize his sentence when a pained movement drew his attention to the floor, where his forgotten hostage flinched as the shadows of McHugh's gesticulations fell across his eyes.

McHugh's arms fell to his sides, heavy as lead.

"Shit."

Charlie had finally managed to settle his world from a violent whirling to a dull jerk at the corners of his eyes and struggled into a sitting position, his entire upper body protesting vehemently at the change in elevation. He raised his eyes to regard McHugh with a bleary expression.

"I thought I killed you!" McHugh sputtered, though his exclamation was more of surprised relief than hostile indignation.

"McHugh, calm down," Charlie struggled through teeth clenched against the aches assaulting his senses. "I'm alive, and I'd really appreciate it if well, I stayed that way."

He half-dragged his body onto his knees, hissing as nausea rendered his entire body useless. A sudden suspicion accosted his half-pulverized brain that this discovery of new hurts was only to become more and more interesting.

Hands still bound, Charlie leaned heavily against the arm of the couch for support and, with all the determination that a man who had been beaten, tossed around, and shot at could muster, drew himself clumsily to his feet. Not even a heartbeat had passed before he collapsed upon the cushions, his knees unable to support his body through fear or pain or fatigue. Or perhaps all three.

An awkward silence permeated the room, heavy and suffocating.

McHugh, positioned exactly between his wife and Charlie, debated heavily his next course of action. Glancing at Elyse, she regarded him with a distant expression, a glare in her eyes that plead,_ 'Please, just get it over with.'_

McHugh sighed. Keeping his distance from the younger man, he extended only his voice.

"I-I have no idea what to say." He chewed on his lip in concentration. "Hell, I'm sorry, kid. I know that probably won't do anything for you, but it's the best I can offer right now."

A metallic taste rolled over Charlie's tongue, and after a few heartbeats his sluggish brain eventually comprehended the gash in his lower lip. He swallowed, the bitter taste nearly choking him.

"No."

He peeled his forehead from his hands and raised his face to McHugh with a glare that could melt steel.

"You hold me hostage here, tie me up, use me for target practice, and get me more acquainted with the wall and the floor and _your fists_ than I ever wanted to be. And for what? Your wife was right. Your pride … and your cowardice."

The words lit a fire under McHugh's feet, but a shrill cry from his wife stopped him cold. He eyed her askance and shuddered for her wan expression.

"No. Hear me out, McHugh," Charlie gasped. "You owe me that much."

His eyes returned to Charlie with a steely glare.

"The best you can offer me right now is to walk out there, hands raised, and surrender. No, no," he hissed as he watched McHugh open his mouth to resist. "It is the only option you have left if you want to return to any sort of normalcy after this situation is over. Right now you're walking the very fine line between resolving this entire situation without bloodshed and getting yourself shot."

He drew in a deep breath, cautious of the deadly stare aimed in his direction.

"You reacted, McHugh, and no one can blame you for that. You did instinctually what anyone would do in a similar situation. Pursued, you ran. Predator and prey. You saw me here and your anger took over. It was not the right thing to do, but you saw it as an easy way to finally get the FBI off your tail."

He paused, regarding McHugh silently. The older man had donned his best poker face, but even that could not conceal the slight twitch of his jaw, the voracious string of insults he was struggling to keep behind his teeth.

"Am I right?" Charlie asked.

McHugh snarled, something fierce and bestial. "They've been after me for too long. For something _I didn't do._ I shouldn't have had to suffer because of their mistake. It ain't right."

"That doesn't matter now, McHugh. That's in the past. Here and now, those charges don't exist. I can assure you that the agents outside care less about the charges against you as they do the fact that you have innocent people held up in here."

McHugh bit his tongue to stave off whatever reply had jumped to the forefront of his brain.

"Just hold on a minute, McHugh," Charlie panted. "I can get this situation to work in your favor. Trust me."

McHugh scoffed, hesitating.

Elyse's plaintive sigh drew her husband's attention.

"He's here to _help,_ Bob … remember?"

McHugh regarded his wife in silence for several moments before dropping his arms to his side in defeat.

"Okay, professor," he accompanied his words with a vague expression. "I'm listening."

Charlie leaned back in perfect silence. For several moments both McHugh and Elyse vanished from the room. Alone in his own sphere of existence, Charlie contemplated his response with as much scrutiny as one of his mathematical equations.

"Look," he began. "They're going to have to charge you for something, McHugh. Evading arrest, something like that."

McHugh spat, folding his arms across his chest. He looked and sounded distant, a man defeated.

"I know."

"I can try and get you a lenient sentence."

McHugh whipped around as if he had been slapped.

"Why the hell would you want to do that?"

"This whole situation came about from a culmination of unfortunate events. I have no right to have you labeled as a dangerous man when you reacted out of pure instinct. Besides, you could have killed me. Twice. But you didn't. Why?"

McHugh averted his eyes and chewed on his lip. "Must just be a bad shot, I guess."

Charlie debated explaining to the man about the mathematical likelihood of such an event, but at the last moment he decided against it. He responded with a wry smile. "Lucky me."

"Now how do I know they won't shoot me the second I step out that door? Without a doubt they heard that third gunshot, and the head honcho up there wasn't too happy with me last time that happened."

Charlie winced. _Don._

In order to make sure McHugh stayed safe, he would have to place himself in the shadow of a gun once again. The proposition weighed heavily on his limbs, but it had to be done. He had promised Elyse, and now he had promised McHugh.

"Leave that to me," he spoke woodenly. "But promise me, McHugh. Don't try anything stupid when we get out there. I'm making a big leap of faith by helping you out here, and if anything goes wrong, it'll be on your head."

McHugh held up his hands defensively, a scowl marring his features. "Hey, no gun. I want to get this over with as much as you do, professor."

Even McHugh's iron resolve could not hide the acidic edge to his words.

"Could you at least," Charlie hesitated, "untie me first?"

McHugh hesitated. He took a small step in Charlie's direction, but the action seemed to pain him.

He hesitated a moment more and then drew only close enough to reach Charlie with his fingertips. Silently he unwound the knot, and the rope curled onto the couch in a serpentine fashion. His objective completed, McHugh shied away from Charlie, widening the space between them with a nervous air.

Charlie had to bite his tongue to stifle a groan as the life rushed back into his arms. The throb in his left shoulder became a furious agony so intense that his earlier pains paled in comparison. Subconsciously he raised his right arm, softly massaging the offending extremity with a gentle circular motion.

The young Eppes leaned heavily on the arm of the couch and pushed himself to his feet. Thankfully, the world only went spinning for a few precious moments before his vision snapped back to relative normalcy again. He took a tentative step to assure his knees would support his weight, and they did so without much protest. The thought of finally escaping this prison, blissful adrenaline, had erased all traces of his hurts.

His heart thundered in his ears as he moved toward the door.

Elyse had risen, latching comfortingly to her husband's arm.

"Bob…" she trailed off, uncertain.

"Don't worry, Elyse."

Charlie glanced over his shoulder, regarding Elyse with a placid expression. Elyse remembered the words the mathematician had spoken to her just hours before.

Suddenly, she did not know whether to be relieved, exalted, worried, or terrified.

She gave her husband's arm a gentle squeeze and released it.

Charlie nodded. "They're probably going to search the house, Mrs. McHugh. Just simple protocol. They know you're here, but just remain calm and cooperate with them. They'll help you."

Elyse could not contain the scoff that parted her lips in a bittersweet expression.

"Help me by taking my husband off to be arrested," she snapped almost without thinking.

"Elyse…" McHugh began.

Elyse shook her head, dismissing her husband's remark with a wave of her hand. She sighed. "I … I know. I'm sorry, Charlie. And … thank you. Thank you for everything."

Charlie nodded. He was beginning a reply when McHugh took a giant step toward the door, anguish fraying at his patience.

"Let's just get this over with, kid."

It was blatantly obvious that the prospect of surrendering terrified McHugh toward the very bounds of his sanity. Charlie likened the older man's expression to one of a man being led to his own execution.

* * *

The echoing of the third gunshot had sent Don Eppes into a fury. Not being able to stand the notion of his brother being locked in that cabin any longer, he had deployed all available men to encircle the cabin and barked orders to Edgerton to fire at will as soon McHugh dared to show himself. 

That had been nearly thirty minutes ago, and McHugh had not yet emerged from the house. Only Megan's presence beside Don had kept him from ordering a mass invasion of McHugh's cabin ten times in the past half hour.

Therefore, when the door slammed open, the tension outside the cabin instantly multiplied.

The threshold stood empty for several seconds. Don watched it with dread weighing heavily on his features. A scuffling sound echoed from inside the house. The whole of nature suddenly froze.

And McHugh appeared.

The fugitive took a tentative step outside the door, glancing over his shoulder with an uncharacteristic trepidation.

The crosshairs never wavered.

Don watched him with the gaze of a feline predator.

_One more step…_

McHugh cleared the cover of the threshold.

Skin met cold steel.

A white-knuckled grip encased the walkie-talkie in Don's hand.

The crosshairs found their mark.

Don's jaw clenched as he lifted the walkie-talkie to his mouth.

McHugh slowly lifted his hands and placed them behind his head, face lowered.

Don faltered, McHugh's sudden gesture throwing off his concentration.

"Edgerton, wait."

The crosshairs hesitated, lowered their mark to the foliage below.

Suddenly, and to the utter shock of everyone that could see the cabin's door, Charlie Eppes, standing on two feet and otherwise unharmed, appeared behind his captor.

His presence brought the chaos to a sudden standstill as Don's mind reeled, struggling to coordinate his thoughts with coherent expression.

"Go, go!" Don heard an agonizing scream, realizing only in retrospect that the voice was his own.

Agents and officers swarmed around the house from all directions, appearing from places that a moment before had been empty, converging in a chaotic circle of guns and uniforms.

McHugh did as he had been told. He offered no resistance. David had been the first to reach the fugitive, with Colby and his team soon behind. The two agents forced McHugh to his knees and then prostrate on the ground. Together they forced his hands into handcuffs, wrenching the limbs forcibly behind McHugh's back. He barely flinched. Officers rushed into the house. Elyse did not even make a sound.

Resolution. Their response was one of a mutual breeding of uncertainty and despair.

The last Elyse saw of her husband through the open door, he had been dragged to his feet by two FBI agents she had never seen before, and escorted away amid a swath of uniformed officers.

She wondered bitterly if she would ever see him again.

As the chaos slowly settled, she saw Charlie standing alone, watching McHugh's retreat with one eye and his approaching brother with the other.

The events of the past six hours rushed passed her as if carried on a fierce wind.

But even a hurricane's destruction could promote the seeds of a new hope.

She managed a dull smile. Her trust in the young mathematician had not wavered since the moment he stepped through her door. He had brought them this far already, and she had no reason for doubting him now.

_To Be Continued…_


	5. Chapter V

Just a slight warning for language in this chapter as well. Storyspindler gets credit for the beta!

And without another month of waiting, here's the ending!

**CHAPTER V**

The presence of a large amount of blood carries with it a sense of urgency.

Though the small trickle from Charlie's lip was barely enough to constitute a second glance, to Don it expressed as much concern as the day his brother bled profusely from a gunshot wound. Charlie's blood was Charlie's blood, whether in a drop or en masse, and its presence alone sent Don's older brother instincts shooting through the roof.

He raced to Charlie's side amid the swirling chaos of McHugh's arrest, taking a moment to study the younger man from head to toe before clapping him over the shoulders in a relieved half-embrace. Charlie could not check a wave of sharp pain the rocketed from his left side as his brother's weight pressed against him.

The grimace on his Charlie's face did not escape Don's notice. He took a step back, his hand gripping at Charlie's good shoulder, and examined him from head to toe again.

"Buddy?"

"I-I'm okay." Charlie massaged his tender shoulder lightly, hiding his discomfort under his best steeled expression. "Just … took a bad fall."

Don's eyes locked on the faint indication of bruises darkening on the length of his brother's forearm. A scowl formed on his lips.

"A bad fall? Look at that, Charlie! He all but threw you!"

Charlie winced.

"Charlie, he could have killed you!"

"I know that, Don." He paused. "But he was hiding behind this façade … this whole situation was a last desperate attempt to convince himself that he really was untouchable. He was hurting inside, Don. Stuck between what was best for him and what was his duty to complete. Something like what he went through would push any man's sanity to the breaking point."

Don shook his head, almost in disbelief. His hand assured him that his brother was alive and well, but Don struggled to believe that any man who could perform such violent acts against another human being could solely blame his actions on some sort of internal mental conflict.

Don watched as McHugh shrank into the distance amid a sea of uniformed officers. Without speaking he began to usher is brother up the hill and through the trees. The brothers walked in a solemn silence for a time, the cabin slowly shrinking at their backs.

"Can't you forgive a man for his mistakes, Don?"

Don's eyes widened at the unusual segue. "Charlie?"

Charlie chewed on his words for several tense moments before breathing a response. "Well, I did."

The response hit Don like a jolt of electricity.

"Well I—uh, I guess that's not the right way to put it," Charlie stammered. "I—I've never blamed you, Don. Not for anything. Not once."

He cleared his throat, concentrating heavily on massaging his tender shoulder. For a moment, his gaze assumed the dirt, before rising with a pleading expression.

"I've … heard stories. From people. Of how after it happened, you could only sit there and stare."

Don visibly recoiled, jerking his hand off his brother as if it suddenly burned him. His heart found a new place between his teeth. His head filled with a sudden, unbearable pressure as old memories rushed forward to mutilate his thoughts. Charlie, shot and bleeding, slowly wasting away before his eyes, and he, clutching at his brother's cold body, his own arms frozen and his brain incapable of complex thought, watching as his brother's life slowly wept out onto the pavement…

He attempted to speak, but the retort died a wispy groan in his throat before it even left his lips.

As the words echoed at the forefront of his brain, all his coherent thoughts scattered. Coldness rushed inwards from the tips of his fingers and coalesced as a heavy mass over his heart. No. It had not been that way. _Could not_ have been that way. Fear had paralyzed him, a genuine terror. He had not been staring; he had been gaping, screaming inside, his body unable to find a way to react to the horror before his eyes…

All his senses suddenly left him, and Don floated in a sort of emotional limbo. Unfeeling, unseeing, the world became suddenly drenched in a shade of solid gray. Muted shapes, shadows danced across the tattered remains of his vision, distant memories that haunted every fragment of his existence.

Charlie watched his brother's face pale to a milky white, and he started. His hand abandoned its ministrations and sought Don's shoulder. The touch catapulted Don from his senseless state, and he shied away from Charlie's grip, cursing in a mix of indignation and fear.

"No, Don." Charlie's voice was soft, almost comforting. "I know. You were afraid. I'm sure I would have done the same thing. But then you came to, and you helped me. You saved my life. There's nothing for me to forgive, Don. You did nothing wrong."

Don shivered again as the coldness melted away, allowing his tortured heart to beat again. There was a pause, one where he did not seem to breathe.

"But don't you see, Don?" Charlie continued. "McHugh has done the same thing. He made a mistake—holding me hostage—that he made in a moment of fear and anger, when he could do nothing else no matter how badly he wanted to. Just like you must have felt. But then something clicked inside him, and now he understands. Now he is staunching the wound instead of staring, crippled by fear. He's been changed."

Charlie stopped walking. After several steps his brother joined him.

"I'm not going to press charges, Don."

There was a resolution in that phrase, one Don could not ignore.

"What? Charlie, why?"

"It was part of our agreement. I was able to reason with him. In exchange for ending this situation without bloodshed, I told him I would not prosecute him."

Don regarded his brother with an inquisitive eyebrow.

"I still have to take him in for evading arrest, Charlie. I can't just let him go, regardless of…what happened to you. He was wanted long before that."

Charlie nodded, slowly. "I know that. And he knows that." He paused. "I…I told him I'd try and arrange a more lenient sentence, if it comes to that."

Don sucked in a hiss through his teeth. "I don't know about that, Charlie. But even if you don't press charges, there are over a dozen witnesses to this whole event. It's not going to look good for him in the long run."

"Maybe, maybe not," Charlie replied. "But truly, I don't believe that he is a dangerous man, Don. He was just caught in a bad situation."

He emphasized his sentence with a pertinent stare, seemingly calm and collected.

The brothers continued their walk in silence, Don contemplating every iota of the recent conversation with a furrowed expression on his face. Charlie had succeeded where Don himself had failed, managing a successful negotiation with a man that had no qualms against taking his life…

Don broke the silence with a laugh, clapping his younger brother on his good shoulder.

"You know," he spoke, relief bringing the old Don back from the brink, "you might have a career as a negotiator?"

Charlie sputtered, regarding his brother with an amused expression.

"Thanks, but no thanks, Don," he offered. "I think I'll stay with my numbers." He rubbed at his temples, willing away the pain beginning to take root. "I think it'll be…safer that way."

"Safer," Don replied, mulling over the word's connotations. "Yeah. I like that."

Gazing around what had been the FBI's station for the past six hours, Charlie watched as Edgerton slithered out from behind the cover of the trees, sniper rifle held at a carry. He stopped to watch Don and Charlie pass, nodding his head to the pair, but said nothing. Don returned his gesture.

Charlie, endorphins now spent, struggled to organize his thoughts as messages of pain from various places assaulted his brain. Little by little he became aware of just what sort of ordeal he had been through. He could feel a dull throb spreading throughout his skull, an omen of the blazing headache that would soon follow. His shoulder did not ache unless he moved his left arm, so he kept the limb glued to his side. Crusted blood left a metallic taste in his mouth and his lip felt five times its normal size. In general, he felt like a man who had just come off the wrong side of a bar fight, which was partly the truth in many ways.

Thankfully, Don noted, he had escaped anything major. _Like those gunshots…_

Don pondered this thought for a moment, and suddenly choked down a wave of laughter.

"Riddle me this, Chuck," he offered.

Charlie stopped walking again, turning to his brother bemusedly.

"I remember you told me once," Don began, "that statistically, I was dead. That a man had taken a shot at me, and the fact that I survived was an anomaly. That the possibility of something like that happening again was next to impossible."

Charlie winced, unsure of his brother's motivations for rehashing such a sensitive memory.

"Yes … ?"

"Well, I have a sinking suspicion that you might be wrong."

"… Wrong?" Charlie repeated the word as if it were in another language, foreign to his own vocabulary.

"Wrong. Because, you see," Don pointed suggestively at Charlie. "You've done it twice."

The comment seemed to float aimlessly in Charlie's brain for several seconds before finding the correct synapse. An expression suddenly flashed over his face best described as aghast.

"First the sniper, and now you've dodged McHugh's bullets—literally. I may not be as good at math as you, buddy, but I do know that's two times you've defied that little rule." He held up two fingers. "Twice."

Charlie opened his mouth to speak, but somewhere between brain and tongue the response was lost.

"Anomaly, eh?" Don sent a friendly jab in his brother's direction.

"I … well, you—" Charlie managed, waving a hand feverishly in his brother's direction, the lines on his face speaking vaguely of frustration. "… Never mind."

"… I suppose that makes you an anomaly of an anomaly, then?"

Charlie's head began a ceaseless, awful pounding, though whether it was from McHugh's beating or Don's challenge he was suddenly unsure.

"… For lack of a better term, yes."

Don guffawed. "I'm not going to make you try and explain yourself, Charlie. It's been a long day."

Charlie nodded, grateful. The two brothers started their trek again and continued for several more steps in silence. When Don stopped short, it took Charlie several moments to notice how far they had walked. McHugh's house had vanished behind the crest of the hill at their backs, and they had reached what Charlie imagined was the FBI equivalent of a base camp.

Amid the throng of FBI and police vehicles scattered among the trees, an ambulance sat waiting.

Charlie, still forcing his brain to process the scene through the pounding in his head, felt Don grip his good arm just above the elbow.

"Don! What—"

"Just get in the ambulance, okay Charlie?"

"Don, I said I'm fine!"

"C'mon. They came all the way out here. I don't want them to think we called them for nothing."

Charlie frowned, but Don prodded him toward the open doors of the waiting ambulance with the type of resolution that only a concerned older brother could possess.

"You don't have just stay with them. I want to have you checked out. Dad would never forgive me if I didn't."

After several steps, Charlie ceased his struggling, dislodged from his brother's grasp, and shuffled, albeit hesitantly, towards his destination.

Don watched him, pondering. Just as his brother reached the vehicle he started towards him.

"Hey, Charlie?"

His brother turned to him.

"You know that phrase, 'third time's a charm'?"

Charlie's eyes glittered. "There's no mathematical proof for that, Don."

Don dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand.

"Yeah, yeah. But there wasn't any proof for an anomaly of an anomaly, either, but here I am, staring at one."

Charlie contemplated for a moment whether or not he should be offended, and tendrils of incredulity curled in the depths of his gut.

"Look, I'm not trying to discount your mathematical prowess, buddy," Don continued. "I have much more faith in you than that. But in my job, you learn not to take chances. I'm going to make sure that third time never happens, okay?"

"Okay."

Don paused for several breaths, contemplating heavily his next response. "But I won't be able to do it alone, y'know? It's hard to keep your little brother from being used as target practice when he has a giant bull's-eye painted on his forehead."

It took several moments before Charlie processed the metaphor with a soft chuckle.

"With a brother like you," he replied, "well, I don't think I have anything to worry about."

Don could not deny his brother's pure sincerity. He felt suddenly more complete, another of the broken pieces of the past slowly on the mend. The steps to his emotional recovery after the sniper attack were coming both swift and fierce. For a moment, Don wondered if the road to absolution was lined with fire and brimstone, a gauntlet through which he must pass.

The proverbial conflagration before the Phoenix rises anew.

Watching his brother, Don realized he was not alone.

Don then regarded Charlie with a stern expression as a paramedic leaned in closer to examine the lump forming on the side of his brother's head. Assuring himself after a few moments that nothing warranted his immediate concern, he turned away to where Edgerton and the others waited for him.

"… Hey, Don?"

Don glanced over his shoulder. "Yeah, buddy?"

"The next time I see someone with a gun, I'll…run like hell in the opposite direction, okay?"

Don snorted a laugh, and suddenly became aware of a great tension releasing his body from its hold, a tension he had not noticed until that moment. It was almost painful, like limbs released from sleep with the pinching of a hundred tiny knives. But as this inner agony melted out onto the forest floor, Don Eppes could not have felt better.

He thrust a finger pointedly in Charlie's direction.

"Damn right, you will."

_Fin._


End file.
